A vain venue for solipsistic sophists, verbal voyeurs, lubricious logorrheics, and serial-comma lovers.
Saturday, January 17, 2015
the walking cure
In the absence of talking, what is there? A silence of sorts. A sorta silence. A sordid stillness. Assorted illness. A walk in the park. Or in the dark. Or daytime stroll. Or jellyroll. A pleasant diversion. Or lucid immersion. A delicious excursion. Or slumbered encumbrance. This. That. The other.